


stay

by slow-smiles (the_irish_mayhem)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:53:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3776197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_irish_mayhem/pseuds/slow-smiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Ep for 4x16. The Author is out, and Emma feels like she's in freefall.</p><p>“Can I--can I stay with you? When I get back?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	stay

He understood why she needed to go—August was a friend, and he knew Emma only had those in short supply. He wouldn’t push his presence on her, either. He felt that she needed to do this alone.

She turned to head for her vessel, but before she got more than two steps, she turned back to him, and grabbed his arm. Her reddened eyes had lost their angered edge, and had taken on a hesitant one. “Can I—can I stay with you? When I get back?”

His heart softened, grateful for the chance to do something,  _anything_  to ease her pain. “Of course, love.” Gods, but he hurt for her, the ache in his chest made worse by the fact that he had no idea how to comfort her, how to fix this for her.

He heard her release a shaky breath before she answered, “Thank you.”

She turned to go once more, and he hesitated before he called out to her. “Emma.” The sight of her red-rimmed eyes broke him all over again. “I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

Emma smiled sadly then, answering, “Not your fault.”

But somehow it still felt like it was.

“I’ll be back,” she said, a new set in her shoulders and a purpose in her stride. His Swan was a strong woman. He had to have faith that she would be all right.

* * *

The Author got away, just to finish off what probably topped the “Worst Days In Storybrooke” list.

Her parents had followed her in her pursuit, and when she noticed they’d followed, her anger was renewed with a vengeance.

“You just left August alone?” she shouted, not bothering to keep her voice down. “We are up to our eyes in villains and you just left him?”

“We thought you needed out help–” David tried, but Emma didn’t let him finish.

“Yeah, I’m done needing things from you.”

She went back to check on August (he was fine. Righteously worried, for certain, but fine.) and then headed to the station to put out an APB on the Author. God, putting out an APB in a town full of villains and storybook characters and there was really only one other law enforcement figure in this town who just so happened to be a  _liar–_

She wonders a lot what happened to her life, and until now, it had mostly been with fond exasperation. But now she was seriously wondering. Why had she chosen to stay here? God, they’d really been lying to her all along. They kept saying things to her about goodness and hope and heroes… and they had hidden  _this_  from her for as long as she’d known them.

This colossal,  _dark_  secret that secured her place as the Savior, as a hero. If her parents were what defined heroic in this book, Emma suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted any part of it.

As she left the station (because that Author was dreaming if he thought she was just going to let him go) Emma was struck with the idea of running. Bundling up her brother and Henry and getting Killian and just going. They could be okay in New York. Boston. Probably farther. Chicago. She had some good memories of living in Minnesota; maybe they could set up there. She still had some contacts in the bounty hunting business that could help them get work; had some seedier contacts that could make Killian and her brother legitimate citizens of the Land Without Magic.

And then she realized that this is what she was trying to stop doing. She needed to stop running. But that whole revelation came at the hands of realizing that she needed her parents in her life. That she couldn’t live without them, and that they were where her home was.

She cruised the streets into the darkening night, shining a light up each and every alleyway, using her magic to make sure every nook and cranny was checked thoroughly. As the hours ticked by, her hope was diminishing further and her magic grew sloppy the more tired she got. When she nearly fell asleep at the wheel, she realized that she was going to be useless if she managed to track him down.

She needed sleep, and she knew that she wasn’t going to find it in this car.

Emma drove to the docks and saw that the Jolly was moored, the gangplank down and waiting for her.

If she knew Killian at all, he was probably awake and waiting for her. She switched off the Bug, putting the parking brake on and locking the doors before she headed for the ship.

In the light of everything her parents had done, and how much her faith in them had been completely shattered, she remembered another reason she had chosen to stay in Storybrooke, and she was currently boarding his ship.

“Killian?” she called out as her boots hit the deck, but before she could get further than a few steps onto the ship, he emerged from the captain’s quarters.

“Emma,” he said, sounding relieved to see her, but his expression changed once he got a look at hers. “What’s happened?”

“I freed him,” she said. “I freed the Author and he got away. I lost him.” She didn’t want to feel like that was a failure on her part, but there it was.

“He got away?” He paused. “I suppose none of us really quite grasped what would happen after we let him out, did we?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “As usual, the finer points of the plan were never really determined.”

Killian was staring at her intently and she knew that look. “There’s more you’re not saying.”

“Me and half the town, apparently,” she answered, far more sharply than intended.

He didn’t look deterred in the least. “I know you’re hurt and angry, love. You’ve every right to be. But I think it’d be best for us to pick up this new search for the Author on the morrow. We’d certainly have far more level heads.”

“You’re right,” she admitted. “Sorry I snapped at you.”

“No apologies necessary,” Killian assured.

* * *

He hadn’t entirely intended to share his bed with her that night. What he had mostly intended was to take the floor and allow her the comfort afforded by the narrow bed.

But when she had taken off her jacket and had stripped down to her near-translucent undershirt, had kicked off her shoes and laid in his bed like she meant to possess it, she had made her desires clear.

There was the hesitation again, the same as when she’d asked to stay with him, but stronger this time.

This was certainly encroaching on dangerous ground for her. He knew because it was dangerous ground for him. Having a lass warm your bed for an hour or two was far different from sharing your bed for the night.

“Killian,” she started, grabbing his hand before he could get too far away, “stay with me?”

He swallowed hard. “As you wish.”

He ditched most of his clothing, settling for wearing some of the things Dave had given him–a pair of soft pants called “sweats” and a shirt that was similar to the one Emma wore called a “beater.”

The cot was far too narrow for two people to have any amount of reasonable space between one another, so as soon as he was beneath the covers, he felt Emma’s legs twining with his, one of her arms tossing over his waist. Their faces were so close together ( _too close together?_  he wondered) and he’d forgotten what a simple intimacy this was.

In the silence, Emma had shut her eyes, but he could tell by her breathing that she was still very much awake. He couldn’t blame her. Sometimes, no matter how tired the body, the mind would not rest.

Without thinking about it, he brought his hand up to her face, gently brushing her hair away from her tense features.

“I can feel you staring,” she whispered.

“You’re beautiful,” he answered simply.

That made a small smile grace her lips, and his heart soared because of it.

It fell all too soon. 

“What’s on your mind, love?” he finally decided to ask.

“Why?” she asked, but it wasn’t obstinate. She sounded genuinely curious, if a little reserved.

“Because I can feel you thinking.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “This isn’t how I imagined us sharing a bed for the first time would go.”

That made him chuckle, and he saw her own returning grin. She was smiling again. “Admittedly, this is not how I’d pictured it either.”

“Thought there’d be more ‘enjoyable activites’ with me on my back?” she asked.

He nodded, delighting in the small laugh he pulled from her. “Also, what was it that you said… far more pillaging and plundering.”

“There’s always next time,” she said with a cute little eyebrow waggle.

“Indeed,” he responded, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. He felt her lean into the contact, which conversely healed and broke his heart.

There was a long, amicable silence that stretched out between them with only the ambience of the creaking of the Jolly’s wood and the gentle sway of the waves. Neither of them seemed like they were going to be sleeping anytime soon, so their eyes remained open, regarding each other with nothing but simple affection and exploration.

Hands caressed innocently—arms, faces, hair. He was enjoying stroking the smooth skin of her cheek when she asked, very quietly, “You don’t think I’ll go dark, do you?”

“Emma, as you told me, no Author, no Crocodile will make you anything you don’t want to be.”

“What if it works?” she asked, and for what amounted to only a handful of times since he’d known her, Emma sounded truly afraid. “What if it works and I can’t stop it?”

He realized that she needed him right now, needed him now more than she ever had before. He cupped her cheek in his hand, forcing her gaze to meet his. “Then we shall face it together, as we always do, but Emma,” he prompted at her panicked look, “You are the strongest person I know. Your will is far more indomitable than the Crocodile gives you credit for if he thinks he can so easily sway you from your convictions.”

“But my parents—”

“Made a terrible, grave error in judgement. What I said about the darkness creeping up on you… it’s true. But when it does, it will be all right in the end. Because you, Emma Swan, are good. Even when you had the choice to take the dark road, take the easy way out… you chose differently.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she was quick to blink them away. “How do you always know what to say?” she murmured thickly.

“I don’t. I just know you.”

Her own hand stroked his cheek, and he leaned into her caress, turning his head and placing a kiss on her palm.

“I am so glad you’re in my life. I want you to know that.”

“As I am glad you are in mine.”

“Hold on, just… just don’t turn this compliment around on me, okay? I told you that you’re a hero. And you are. You’re the kind of hero I would want to be.”

He couldn’t have been more surprised had Cruella, Maleficent, and the Crocodile all waltzed in and declared a surrender. “Swan, I…” He was only this way because she reminded him of who he was, of who he could be. She was the light to his darkness, and if only he could just show her that… if only she saw herself the way he saw her, then she wouldn’t doubt herself for a moment about this dastardly plot.

“Don’t say anything, okay? I know how I feel. I know I’m not great at telling you, but everything that’s happened has made me realize a lot of things. You’re as much a part of my home here as Henry is.”

If he wasn’t allowed to speak, then he could certainly be excused for leaning in and brushing his lips against hers. Not deep, not passionate, but loving. There couldn’t be any doubt any more, though he’d ceased doubting his own feelings long ago.

Upon pulling back, he merely smiled and pulled her closer. “Good night, my love.”

“Good night.”


End file.
